


Sight

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Mirror Universe, PWP, Vignette, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 00:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21499120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Hugh and Paul forget something.
Relationships: Mirror Hugh Culber/Mirror Paul Stamets
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The only thing Paul loves more than stuffing his cock into Doctor Culber’s stifling asshole is having Hugh completely buried in his. Hugh drills him up against the metallic wall hard enough to clatter a few instruments off the nearby table. There’s no one there to use them on but Paul, and at one time or another, Paul’s felt almost all of them, some from tender moments of Hugh healing him and others from Hugh’s wicked experiments. Paul loves both scenarios. He loves wrapping his arms around Hugh’s broad shoulders and tugging Hugh in for a painful kiss. Hugh fills him up with tongue and fucks him _hard_ , slamming into him so hard that he’ll probably have bruises in the morning. 

His doctor won’t heal them. Hugh enjoys eyeing his handiwork too much. He hikes Paul’s knees higher over his elbows, fingers clawing into Paul’s hips, and he drives deeper, further in than anyone else has ever gone. Paul _adores_ it. His toes curl in his boots, throat letting out a languid cry as Hugh utterly _wrecks_ him. Hugh breaks away from his mouth to kiss along his jaw and bite into his throat, then growl into his ear, “ _Fuck_ , you’re tight, Lieutenant.”

Paul so enjoys hearing that on duty. Somehow it’s hotter than whispered endearments in the middle of the night. There’s no reason for the title other than that sensual twist—there’s no one around to hear them. Sickbay’s as empty as usual, because it’s only needed when someone the Emperor actually cares about is hurt, or on the odd occasions where she wants someone dissected. This is a much better use of Hugh’s time. Paul has real things to do, _important_ things, things that he does care about and will return to soon, but every now and then, even he needs a break. And the best kind of breaks are the ones where Hugh _breaks him_. 

Hugh snakes one hand between them to finally start stroking Paul’s cock. It’s rock-hard, throbbing, not at all wilted from being squished between their disheveled uniforms. Paul thinks he might be in heaven. Then his communicator beeps in his back pocket, and he remembers what a cruel world they live in.

Hugh hisses, “Don’t answer it.” But they both know that’s not an option. Paul doesn’t have the balls to ignore it. 

He fumbles through the scrunched up fabric of his pants. He finds the communicator and whips it open, struggling to answer levelly, “Hello?”

 _“Stamets,”_ The Emperor’s voice smoothly returns, slick as liquid steel. She all but purrs, _“How is my spore drive coming?”_

It’s _so dangerous_ , but Paul’s too fucked-stupid to do anything but lie. He doesn’t have the wherewithal for a clever answer. He breathes, “It’s going well.”

Hugh bites into his neck. He wants to scream. Instead, he buries his face in Hugh’s shoulder and holds a whimper back. 

The Emperor drawls, _“That’s good to hear, Lieutenant. I know how hard you work, after all.”_ Paul nods, even though she’s not there to see it. Then she adds: _“And you certainly are hard right now, aren’t you.”_

Paul’s entire body goes cold. Hugh stills against him. For the first time since they started, Hugh’s hips slow, cock slipping halfway out of Paul’s body, and Paul doesn’t protest. The Emperor muses, _“You do know I have eyes all over my ship, don’t you?”_

Paul’s mouth works soundlessly. He feels like such a _fool_. His sweat turns clammy and frigid. The Emperor’s chuckle makes him squirm.

Then she adds, _“But by all means, keep going. I enjoy the view.”_ Paul’s eyes shut. He wonders if that means he’ll live. _“Doctor, you know where your camera is. Would you mind turning my pretty engineer towards it?”_

Hugh doesn’t miss a beat. Paul’s heart resumes beating—he _will_ live, though he might do some time in the agonizer. Hugh picks Paul up, supporting his weight away from the wall, and drops him along the nearest bio-bed. Paul lies back across it, eyes flickering to the ceiling. Hugh nods to the corner where the camera must be—a small, almost invisible, easily forgettable one, just like all those in Engineering. Paul subtly angles his body towards it, arching up, and tries to give a good show. He leaves the communicator open, setting it down beside him.

Hugh tells the open air, “At your command, Emperor.”

_“Fuck him.”_

Hugh obeys. The thrusts come twice as hard, twice as fast, and Paul really does cry out in ecstasy, no longer just babbling his lover’s name, but his loyalty to the Empire.


End file.
